


Dancing with Ghosts

by suyari



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Caught in a Loop, Dragons, Incest, Jon Snow needs a clue, M/M, Mild Age Difference, Minor Spoilers for Season 8, R Plus L Equals J, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, direwolves, it depends on how you look at it - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18616837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/pseuds/suyari
Summary: Every life he awoke. Every life began at Winterfell.





	Dancing with Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler Warning for Jon and a certain Dragon.

Jon woke to a more than familiar ceiling. Heaving a sigh, he rolled onto his back and threw an arm across his eyes. Every time it happened, he found he needed more and more time to adjust. He’d not yet reached a point where someone could tell at first glance, but he was certain that time would find him soon enough if the curse continued. 

From the foot of his bed, Ghost gave a disgruntled groan and stretched out, claws catching in the bedfurs with absolutely no remorse. If there was one saving grace to his entire predicament, it was that in having bound himself to both a Direwolf and a Dragon, Jon was never alone. Sometimes it meant he had one and not the other, though he never liked to think on it. They were of one spirit now, the three of them, and to lose one always threw them off balance. The ripples it caused could be massive, following them through more than one reawakening. It had taken some time for Jon to figure out what could be bent and maneuvered around, and what absolutely needed to happen. Though he wasn’t yet certain how he was meant to change the world enough that he would live to a ripe old age and never wake again. He probably had to manage the first at all before having any hopes toward the latter. 

In his many lives, he had been many things. A Bastard. A brother of the Night’s Watch. The 998th Lord Commander. A King. A Lord. A Warden of the North. A Sellsword. A Merchant. A lost Prince. A Hand. A Wildling. A Pirate. A Usurper. A Spy. A Whore. A Faceless Man. An Assassin. Even a Maester. It had taken him a few goes round to even come to understand what was happening. It had taken a few more for him to figure out what he was meant to do. He may yet be unsure as to the end goal of his curse, but he knew what was expected of him, and in all his many lives, he’d yet to fail to perform his duty. 

Every life he awoke. Every life began at Winterfell. It wasn’t always the same day, or even the same year. He wasn’t always the same age. But he was always a Targaryen prince in hiding, shielded by a loving Uncle and kept in plain sight as a Bastard. By his second life, knowing the truth as he did, the term stopped carrying any meaning for him. Eventually any connotations of any sort were wiped clean away. Jon had no time to be concerned over a title that was neither true, nor mattered at all by the end. For the Night King always came. And though Jon did not always defeat him, he did not always fall to him either. Which made the entire ordeal all the more confusing. For he could not seem to understand what greater purpose he was meant to serve than to save the world from an Endless Night. And yet, the Gods kept sending him back. To try and try again, until such a time - he hoped - he got it right, and was allowed some peace at long last. 

There was a soft knock at his door. Ghost pushed himself up, ears alert, though his form was greatly diminished from what Jon had grown most accustomed to. It might be a wild flight of his imagination, but he swore the Direwolf grew faster and larger every reawakening. He couldn’t be as certain about Rhaegal, but then, he’d yet to find a true balance there. Daenerys was the one who brought Rhaegal into the world. Daenerys was the one who needed him most in the early years. And she was the one who relied upon his presence. Yet every few reawakenings, Jon would find a Dragon had taken flight of its own volition across the great sea, seeking him out, and refusing to be parted from him. Jon could honestly not blame Rhaegal for his concern, as there was often much to be concerned about given Jon’s propensity to attract mortal peril everywhere he went. Though, when he could, he did try to ask Rhaegal to be as faithful to Daenerys as he could stand before coming to find him, as he had great suspicion most of what happened across the sea in Essos needed to happen just so. And he had at least five reawakenings to reaffirm those suspicions. 

His door creaked open quietly and Theon peeked in. Jon sat up with another sigh and gave him as best a reassuring smile as he could manage. Theon was another matter entirely. Ghost and Rhaegal, Jon understood. They were part of him. The three of them were of one spirit, and perhaps would never be individuals again - no matter what the Gods tried; which was admittedly an extremely comforting thought - but Theon...Theon was another matter all together. 

Theon gave him a quick grin and closed the door as quietly as he could manage. He padded across the room silently and dropped into Jon’s bed, reaching out to scratch Ghost behind the ears. The Direwolf gave a gentle lap to the interior of his wrist in greeting. 

“So…” Theon ventured after a long moment of silence. “What’s the plan this time?” 

Jon frowned. “Do we even know what time of the year it is?” he asked. Theon tended to have a better feel for these matters; whether by cultivation or instinct, Jon didn’t know. But he was never wrong, and Jon trusted his ability to right them in the sea of reawakening with the steady confidence of an Ironborn upon a ship. 

“The King should be arriving soon.” He looked down meaningfully at Ghost, who blinked back at him seemingly unconcerned. Ghost tended to be the most patient of the four of them, not that it was much of a surprise to Jon. 

Jon absolutely refused to sigh again. However, it was not beneath him to drop back bonelessly into the bed and fix his gaze upon the ceiling as if it would give him some answers if he just concentrated long and hard enough. 

“Do we protect Bran this time or let it happen?” Theon ventured when it became apparent Jon wasn’t about to start the conversation. 

“I don’t know,” he replied. “We’ve tried it both ways and he always ends up losing his legs in the end no matter what we do. I’m starting to wonder if the fall isn’t the most humane.” Loathe as he was to allow harm to come to his brother, Jon and Theon had both witnessed first hand how Bran could lose the use of his legs in other ways if he was not pushed from the window by Jaime Lannister. Moreover, Jon had asked him in at least two reawakenings - once he was the Three Eyed Raven - if it even mattered at all and which he would prefer should he have the choice. Bran had looked him in the eyes and told him he had to lose his legs so he could fly, and that all that mattered in the end was his becoming the Three Eyed Raven. Jon had tried once to help him in that regard. Deserting the Night’s Watch in order to escort Bran safely to the Tree. That life had been particularly full of grief. He still could not wrap his mind around how Bran had managed to survive it all without going mad. 

The sad fact of the matter was, no matter what Jon did - even with Theon’s help - there were simply too many people to save, at too great a distance from one another. When Rhaegal deserted Daenerys early and flew to Westeros for Jon it could indeed go faster, though, it came with its own host of problems. Namely, the undeniable shadow of a great winged beast over the land and the great swaths of scorched earth where a dragon had fed. One life in particular had been quite informative in that regard. 

“Do you want to try to sway your Father again?” Theon of course, knew the truth. But after all they had been through - the many lives they had lived both together and apart - they both understood the true meaning of family and just how much they’d really had to start. Despite both having despaired at never being a part of the family they had found themselves with. 

“You know it never works,” Jon moaned into his hands, scrubbing his face in frustration.

“It might,” Theon hedged, waiting until Jon peeked out at him to continue. “If Robb did it.” 

Admittedly, Jon had never thought of that. “And how are we going to get him to sway Father?” 

“Have you ever thought about just telling Robb?” 

Jon blinked at him, frustration peaking. “Telling him what exactly?”

Theon shrugged. “Whatever you like. You may have a hard time realizing this, Jon, but if having to live through this entire ordeal over and over has taught me anything, it’s that Robb _loves_ you. He trusts you more than he trusts _anyone_ and that never changes.” He reached out to lay a hand to Jon’s thigh, squeezing in support. Robb’s continued demise was the one that always caused Jon the most suffering. Some lives he couldn’t even bear to be near Robb knowing what was to come. Choking on the grief and loss long before Robb would ever see harm. Throat tightening whenever he smiled. Tears threatening whenever he laughed. The gut wrenching agony of the sunlight glistening off his hair. And the spark of fire along his nerves when Robb casually touched him. The scream of his very soul whenever Robb was near. Robb’s death was what made the entire experience a true curse. To be ever granted another chance to see him hale and whole, knowing as he did what would become of him in the end. Sometimes, very rarely, Grey Wind would survive. And Jon would find himself with a pair of Direwolves, flanked on either side. No harm would ever befall him in those lives. Until death inevitably found him in the most bizarre way imaginable and he was forced to begin anew. 

Ghost licked his hand, bringing him back from morbid thoughts. He reached out to scrub a hand through his warm fur, trying to ground himself in the moment. Their current life was all that mattered. He’d do best to remember it. 

Before he could answer Theon however, his door swung open and there Robb stood, Grey Wind at his side. Ghost leapt off the bed, rushing to greet his brother in exuberant licks against his muzzle and the eager slide of wolf cheeks. 

Something must have shown through, else he wasn’t as good as he thought he was at hiding the wariness of his spirit, for Robb frowned at them, back going straight, shoulders taut in readiness. “What is it?” he asked in all his magnificence, voice dropping for reasons Jon couldn’t begin to guess at. 

Theon gave Jon’s thigh another squeeze and Robb’s eyes narrowed. From their greeting, Grey Wind gave a low rumble of a growl. Theon simply smiled back at Robb in return, before patting Jon’s thigh and standing. 

“You should tell him,” he told Jon, before giving Robb a small, respectful nod and striding from the room. 

Robb watched him go, focused more on the closing of the door than the way Jon’s eyes could not tear themselves away from him. He felt something like a scream, raw and broken, take up residence in his gut and promptly wrapped both arms about himself. 

“Tell me what?” Robb asked softly. Jon listened to the soft footfalls as his brother - not his brother, but his brother all the same - closed the distance between them. In the most gentle voice Jon had ever heard him use, he added, “Jon? What’s happened?” 

Ghost and Grey Wind beat Robb to the bed, lunging atop it with vigor. They sidled up to him on either side and began licking and nuzzling him. Their young bodies small enough to shove under his arms for attention. Jon spread his fingers in fur and tried to remember why he was doing all of this. The endless living and ceaseless dying, and the ever constant loss of everything he held most dear. 

Robb hesitated at his bedside, before slowly lowering himself upon it, hand reaching for Grey Wind at a loss. His fingers stroked over Jon’s so heart felt and sweet that Jon almost cried right then. He turned his hand instead, capturing Robb’s fingers. His grip was fearful, he could see it in Robb’s eyes. He shifted closer on the bed, bracketing Jon between himself and their direwolves. 

For the first time in so long, he could barely recall, Jon felt safe. He closed his eyes against the feeling, unconsciously drawing Robb’s hand close and kissing over his fingers. Robb made no sound in response, his muscles remaining loose, body comfortable and not at all repulsed by the gesture. In that moment, Jon thought it didn’t much matter what he chose to say or do. If all that mattered in the end was death, then perhaps, just once he might meet it without the burden that most crippled his heart. 

“I love you,” he rasped against Robb’s skin. 

The sense of relief that washed through him at the simple statement was almost euphoric. His entire body sagged into Grey Wind, who’d settled between himself and Robb in apparent delight. The Direwolf gave a long lick to his temple and Jon couldn’t help but laugh. He never quite knew what the Direwolves remembered, or if they all went through the cycle right along with him. For that matter if Viserion and Drogon were also caught in the endlessness of life and death. The only comfort to all beasts being the return to home and family, their natural states and wild natures making them far more receptive. Perhaps, they did not think it a curse at all. 

“Is that all?” Robb’s fingers curled beneath Jon’s chin and urged his head up. Obligingly, Jon opened his eyes, only for them to widen and subsequently close a moment later when Robb kissed him. 

Jon threw both arms about Robb’s neck, abandoning their Direwolves for the warm, solid presence of Robb alive and there with him. 

Robb’s arms slid about his waist as their mouths opened, tongues meeting. And then Jon was falling back, Ghost and Grey Wind abandoning the bed to give he and Robb more room. Every part of them was tangled about one another, wound so strongly Jon couldn’t be certain what was him and what was Robb. 

Eventually they needed to breathe. Jon found himself panting against Robb’s own open mouth. Their breath mingling, ghosting over one another’s skin in a teasing caress. Robb’s eyes held his own and their brows came together, noses bumping. The rise and fall of their chests did not seem to conflict, but occurred simultaneously in perfect concert. And then Robb smiled. 

“If I’d have only known, Snow,” he teased, joyfully, nipping at Jon’s lower lip and drawing a response from deep in his groin that sent pleasure arcing through Jon like an open wound. “We could have been doing this for ages.” 

Jon laughed despite himself, fingers stroking over Robb’s skin. “I **_love_** you, Stark,” he informed him. “I always have and I always will. Not even death could steal that from you. I will love you until the end of the world. And I will love you beyond even that.” 

Robb swallowed thickly, shifting against him. “ _Jon_...” he replied, voice heavy with desire and something else Jon knew at his core. 

“Do you trust me?” Jon asked him, feeling a tremble take up in his very soul. 

“Of course I do,” Robb replied without hesitation. 

“Would you believe me, no matter how mad I sounded. No matter what I said. Would you believe me, Robb?”

Robb shifted in their embrace, reaching up to run his fingers through Jon’s stubborn curls. “There’s nothing you could say that would ever break my faith in you, Jon.” He kissed him, soft and sweet. “I love you.” 

Jon thought it was all madness at the heart of it, truly. But, he and Theon had tried everything else. Theon had been right. The only thing they’d failed to do was perhaps the thing that would have made the most sense, had they in truth been their younger selves, and not broken men forced back into younger bodies over and over. Yet, with Robb, in that moment, wrapped around one another, and trading their very breath he felt younger than he ever had before. 

“Alright, then.” He shifted until he made himself comfortable, Robb settling in with him somehow, without sacrificing their limb locked embrace. Ghost and Grey Wind returned. Able to fit upon the bed with them for the moment, small as they were. They cuddled up on either side of them; Ghost to Robb’s back and Grey Wind to Jon’s. 

And so it was that upon the advice of Theon Greyjoy - of all people - Jon made the maddest, wildest, most selfish decision in all his many lives in his last one.


End file.
